Page 17 of Keep Me Close

I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen Chey scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She’s wearing an oversized sweatshirt and leggings. Somehow, she looks even better like this than when she’s all made up.

I wouldn’t have expected that.

What can’t be denied is that she appears wrung out. Like the roses and note stripped away whatever armor she’d managed to wrap around herself this morning.

She’s unfiltered and real in a way I’m not usually privy to. Raw, tired, and looking much too human. My chest constricts as I continue studying her reflection. Maybe it’s because I’m used to seeing her put together and untouchable. Every inch locked down tight.

When she wraps her arms around herself, it takes every ounce of control not to pull her against me. Although, it’s highly doubtful she’d welcome the comfort.

Especially from me.

It’s a relief when the doors slide open on the sixth floor and Chey steps out. I trail behind her, watching as she fumbles with the keycard against the lock before the light flashes green and the door opens.

“Give me ten minutes,” she mutters, beelining for the bathroom. “I need to shower first. Then I’ll pack everything up.”

The door closes behind her, and a second later, the water starts running.

With her distracting presence gone, I take the opportunity to glance around the room. For a hotel suite, it already feels like her. Not because there’s clothing tossed over a chair or a half-zipped makeup bag on the counter. It’s the light, beachy, and feminine scent that has already permeated the air. The very same one that’s been fucking with my head for years.

On the vanity sits a small bottle of perfume. Before I can think better of it, I lift the crystal container to my nose. It smells exactly like her. Sunshine and salt air, with a hint of floral sweetness underneath. I love this damn scent. Ever since I met her, it’s been lodged in my head like a splinter I can’t dig out.

The thought hits me a second too late that I’m standing in Cheyenne Benson’s hotel room, sniffing her perfume like some kind of psychopath. That’s all it takes for me to set the bottle back exactly where I found it and rake a hand through my hair before staring out the window, trying to get a grip on my emotions.

This already feels like too much.

Being in her space, breathing her in, and seeing little signs of her everywhere I turn, is intimate in a way I wasn’t prepared for. And it’s only going to get worse with her living in my penthouse.

The shower cuts off, and a minute later, the bathroom door opens. Chey steps out wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders in auburn strands. My gaze drags over her before I can stop it. She’s all long legs and bare shoulders as water glistens against her skin.

She freezes. “I, ah, forgot to bring clothes in with me.”

My throat dries, making it impossible to swallow. Every instinct tells me to look away. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I stare a beat too long before forcing my gaze to her face and then somewhere over her shoulder. If I keep looking at the way that towel hugs her body, I’m going to close the distance between us and⁠—

That thought is derailed by the ringing of her phone. She glances at the screen on the bed, and her expression tightens.

When she doesn’t make a move to answer it, I blurt, “What’s wrong? Don’t want to talk to your mom?”

“Not really,” she says with a sigh. “Although, I should probably bite the bullet and just get it over with.”

Before I can ask what that means, she picks up the call.

“Hey, Mom.” After a quick glance in my direction, she turns away and lowers her tone.

Even though she’s not on speakerphone, Sharon’s voice booms across the line loud and clear.

“Cheyenne Marie Benson, you need to stop playing games and get your butt home right now,” her mother snaps without preamble.

Chey’s shoulders hunch. “I told you, I need a few weeks.”

“There are contractual commitments to think about. You don’t just get to disappear on a whim like some nobody.”

My jaw clenches.

“It’s not a whim. Dakota⁠—”

“For goodness’ sake, you’re making too big a deal out of that situation. The show comes first. You know that.”

Irritation floods my veins. Only now does it become clear that Cheyenne didn’t come here just to get away from Dakota but everything else as well, including her family.